All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter
by Commodore Norrington
Summary: An eleven-year-old boy residing at Number 4, Privet Drive, received his Hogwarts letter in the summer of 1991. That boy was Dudley Dursley. AU
1. All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter

A/N: This story takes place in the same 'verse as my AU, "The Pauper's Tale". This one stands pretty independently, but a couple of things will make more sense if you've read the other one.

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><p><em>All that is gold does not glitter,<br>Not all those who wander are lost;  
><em>_The old that is strong does not wither,  
><em>_Deep roots are not reached by the frost.  
><em>- J.R.R. Tolkien

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><p>Dudley was not afraid to admit he was frightened, if only to himself. It was like the first day of primary school again, surrounded by strangers and so far away from his parents. Only it was worse, because unlike in primary school, every kid on this train could do magic. Dudley supposed he could, too, but he didn't have the first idea about how. Besides, whatever Mum said, he couldn't help wondering if maybe Dad had been right…<p>

"_I will not pay for some crackpot old fool to teach him magic tricks!" Dad yelled, quite purple in the face. Dudley pressed closer to the keyhole he was peering through._

_Mum was determined, though. Dudley had never seen her stand up to Dad like this before. "Vernon, it's not like that! Dudley is special, he can do things –"_

"_Like what?" Dad snorted. "Turn hankies into pigeons?"_

"_Remember that time he got in a fight with that awful Polkiss boy? We thought Piers must have punched the pavement by accident to break his fingers like that, but Dudley swore he hit him square in the stomach!"_

"_So what?" Dad replied gruffly, shifting uncomfortably._

"_So that's the sort of thing that turns up around underage wizards!" Mum explained passionately. "Strange things, unexplainable things –"_

"_Freakish things," Dad growled. "Petunia, what if the neighbors found out?"_

"_Hang the neighbors!" Mum exploded. "Dudley's going to be able to do things we can't even dream of, Vernon! We mustn't stop him!"_

"_I just don't want my son to be some sort of weirdo," Dad insisted. Dudley thought this was rather brave, as Mum looked like she could murder someone._

"_Vernon Dursley," she hissed, hands curled into tight fists at her sides. "You have a choice. You can either let your son go to this school, and be _proud _of him, or I'm taking the boy and leaving. I will not have my son called a weirdo or a freak by _anyone_, and that includes you!"_

_Dad stared at Mum, then nodded dumbly. Dudley suppressed a cheer…_

"Anyone sitting there?" a voice broke through Dudley's reverie. He sat up straighter, arranging his face into something he thought looked cool, maybe slightly bored.

"Nah," he shrugged. "Go on."

A pale, blonde boy slid into the seat across from Dudley. He, too, wore an expression that said he was not impressed by his surroundings. He was already wearing his black robes and twirled his magic wand in his hands. He seemed to be sizing Dudley up.

"Draco Malfoy," he said finally, though he didn't extend his hand.

"Dudley," Dudley replied, suddenly and dreadfully conscious of his very _normal_ name. "Dudley Dursley."

Draco frowned slightly. "Dursley..." he murmured. "I've not heard of your family. You're not a –"

He was interrupted by the compartment door sliding open. A bushy-haired girl stood there, also in robes.

"Excuse me," she said in a bossy kind of voice. "Have you seen a toad?"

"You brought a _toad_?" Draco sneered. "God, toads were out of fashion when my _father_ was in school!"

Dudley was enormously glad now that his mum hadn't bought him that toad he'd wanted.

"It's not mine," the bossy girl retorted. "Besides, who cares if they're fashionable? _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One_ says they're very useful to practice spells on."

"Ooh, look who's reading her books before term even starts," Draco taunted. "Someone's aiming to be teacher's pet."

"Oh, honestly!" the girl huffed, slamming the compartment door.

"Some people," Draco shook his head. "Probably a Muggleborn. They're always trying too hard."

Dudley shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Aunt Lily had explained about Muggles and Muggleborns…

"_Listen, Dudley," Aunt Lily said seriously, turning to face him from the front seat of the car. "You'll probably run into some people who think they're better than you because you're a Muggleborn – your parents aren't wizards. Don't let them get to you."_

"_But if their parents are wizards," he said slowly, "won't they be ahead? They've learned m-magic their whole lives!" The word 'magic' still felt uncomfortable in his mouth._

_Aunt Lily shook her head. "You can't start learning magic properly until you've got a wand," she said. "And you can't get a wand until you start school. So they're no further along than you, and," her green eyes blazed at him, "they are _no better_ than you. No matter what they say, magical power is not related to how many wizards are in your family tree. Understand?"_

_Dudley nodded, though he wasn't sure he did…_

"Why haven't you changed into your robes yet?" Draco was asking. "I couldn't wait to get out of those Muggle things."

"Oh…yeah," Dudley said, standing up to get his robes out of his trunk. He pulled them on quickly, trying to look like he wore this sort of thing every day. As he stuffed his jeans into his trunk, he saw Draco looking approvingly at his robes.

"Good to see you have taste," he drawled. "Madam Malkin's special collection?"

"Yeah," Dudley replied proudly. "My mum always gets me the best clothes."

"Must be hard, strapping lad like you," Draco said. It was an odd comment, something an adult would say, not an eleven-year-old. But Draco appeared to be sizing him up again, and liking what he saw. "I think you'll just about do, Dursley," he smirked, an odd gleam in his eye.

"Do for what?"

"Listen, Dursley," Draco leaned forward conspiratorially. "My father is on the Board of Governors. He has a lot of influence at the Ministry, and he knows all the right people. I'm going places, and if you stick with me, you can go places, too."

Dudley was intrigued. A voice in his head, which sounded an awful lot like his father, was saying, _Always useful to make friends with powerful people._ He grinned at Draco, nodding slightly.

"All right," he said. And just like that, he had a friend.

The rest of the train journey passed pleasantly. Dudley and Draco swapped jokes and stories and ate their way through a large quantity of snacks bought from a tubby old lady pushing a trolley. They were interrupted a few times by various people popping into the compartment, looking for someone or something, or just to meet new students.

As the sky outside darkened, Draco picked up his wand from where he'd placed it on the seat next to him. There was a definite air of tenderness as he waved it experimentally through the air, producing a few red sparks.

"Hawthorn and unicorn hair," he informed Dudley proudly. "Ten inches."

Dudley understood the pride and affection. He pulled his own wand from inside his robes, remembering last month when they'd gone into London to do his school shopping…

"_Now, Lily said to get your wand from," Mum muttered, consulting the little slip of paper in her hand, "Ollivander's. So that's just…"_

"_There!" Dudley pointed. Then, "Oh, Mum, look!" he squealed. The display of shiny new broomsticks in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies had caught his attention. "Can I get one, Mum, please?"_

"_It's much too dangerous, Diddy," she refused. "And it says in your letter you're not allowed one your first year."_

_Dudley pouted all the way to the wand shop, which was dingy and faded and not at all as impressive as the broom shop. He forgot his frustration as soon as they entered the dim little store, however. There was a sort of thickness in the air that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and his blood felt like it was tingling._

"_Good day," a misty voice greeted them. "Try this one. Chestnut and dragon heartstring, 12 inches." An old man with long, white hair and strange silvery eyes pressed a thin box into Dudley's hands and gazed at him expectantly._

_Dudley glanced at his mother questioningly, but she merely shrugged. He lifted the top of the box and found a thin strip of wood lying delicately on a cushion. He picked it up, wondering what to do, but the old man snatched it out of his hands, shaking his head._

"_No, no," he muttered, shoving another box at Dudley. "Oak and unicorn hair, 12 ½ inches."_

_Dudley again took the wand out of the box, and again the man – who must be Mr. Ollivander – grabbed it out of his hand, though this time he at least allowed Dudley to wave it around a bit._

"_Willow, perhaps?" Ollivander pondered._

_Again, nothing. Dudley wondered what Ollivander was looking for._

"_Hmm," Ollivander hummed, tapping his chin with a long forefinger. "Something a little more unusual…some hidden potential…Ah, yes." He shuffled to the back of the store, returning with a particularly dusty box._

"_Larch and unicorn hair," he breathed. "14 inches. A very unusual combination."_

_Dudley wasn't entirely sure he liked the sound of that, but part of him thrilled to be different, to be special. He picked up the wand, and _knew_. Knew what Ollivander had been looking for. Knew what Aunt Lily had been talking about. Knew what it was to be a wizard. He swept the wand through the air, letting out a small squeak of delight as blue sparks trailed from its end…_

"What wood is that, then?" Draco asked, curious. "I don't think I've seen it before."

"Larch," Dudley answered, not trying very hard to keep the pride out of his voice. It was nice to have an edge on Draco for once.

"Bit long, though, isn't it?" Draco asked conversationally, though Dudley thought there was perhaps a bit of jealousy in his voice.

He shrugged. "'Spect I'll grow into it."

There was a long whistle and the train slowed to a stop. Older students were calling out for the first years to leave their things on the train. Dudley stood, the nervousness that had largely left him during the afternoon with Draco suddenly washing back over him.

"Come on, then," Draco urged from the doorway, all cool eagerness. If he was nervous, he certainly hid it well.

The next half hour was a blur for Dudley. There was a giant of a man, leading them toward some boats; a terrifying journey across a bottomless black lake; a fierce-looking teacher who led them to a small room and told them to wait; a huge hall filled with students; and a…_singing hat_?

He was overwhelmed. He vaguely registered that they were going up one at a time to put on the hat, but it wasn't until Draco elbowed him in the ribs that he realized his own name had been called.

He stumbled out of the line of first years, trying not to trip over his robes, and sat on the small stool. He had enough time to take in the hundreds of faces staring up at him from the tables before the teacher placed the hat on his head and it covered his eyes.

_Ooh, I do love Muggleborns_, a voice whispered in his ear, or was it in his head? _None of the prejudices the other sort come with. Now, let's see. Where to put you? You've got a liking for influential friends, I see, and a desire for power. Good Slytherin traits. But dearie me, I haven't put a Muggleborn in Slytherin for years. There's also this need to be liked…interesting…and a willingness to work, though that's a bit buried. Yes, yes, I think it ought to be…_

"Hufflepuff!" the hat shouted, and as it was plucked from his head, Dudley saw the table second from his right cheering heartily. He couldn't help grinning, though his smile faltered when he saw Draco's disappointed face.

Dudley took a seat next to an older boy with friendly grey eyes who made a space for him. He was joined almost immediately by a curly-haired boy who he thought may have been sharing a boat with him and Draco; he had been far too distracted by the icy blackness of the lake to pay much attention at the time.

Dudley's stomach began growling as the Sorting dragged on. He clapped automatically with everyone else when "Hopkins, Wayne," "Jones, Megan," and "MacMillan, Ernie" were sent to the Hufflepuff table.

When "Malfoy, Draco" was called, Dudley leaned forward anxiously. While he wasn't really surprised, he was slightly disappointed to hear his first – and, so far, only – friend get a resounding shout of "SLYTHERIN!" and trot off to the table on Dudley's left. As he passed, Draco shot him a look that was almost apologetic, before scanning the Slytherin table and sitting between two boys even bigger than Dudley.

By the time "Weasley, Ronald" and "Zabini, Blaise" had been sent to Gryffindor and Slytherin, respectively, Dudley was too hungry to even be startled that food had appeared out of nowhere on the table. He grabbed the potatoes and shoveled some onto his plate, then attacked them with gusto.

The curly-haired boy next to him was more appreciative. "I love magic!" he exclaimed in a posh accent, grinning widely. "Isn't it just amazing?"

Dudley nodded mutely, his mouth crammed full of potato. The grey-eyed boy on Dudley's other side looked on curiously.

"Are you a Muggleborn, then?" he asked, and his voice was just as friendly as his eyes.

The curly-haired boy nodded. "I was down for Eton until I got the letter," he explained. "Justin Finch-Fletchley. Pleased to meet you." He extended his hand and the two boys shook across Dudley.

"Cedric Diggory," the older boy returned. "I always think Muggleborns are so brave, coming into this world they've never heard of before. Let me know if you have any questions or need help with something."

"Thanks," Justin replied. He turned to Dudley. "What about you – Dudley, was it? Where are you from?"

"Surrey," Dudley answered thickly, through the chicken he was now chewing on. He swallowed. "I was going to Smeltings until my birthday." He was pleased by the similarity between himself and Justin; Dad couldn't possibly disapprove of Etonians.

"I say!" Justin exclaimed, apparently just as pleased. He leaned over, just as Draco had done on the train, and muttered so only Dudley could hear him, "Glad to know I'm not the only one. I've felt rather an idiot ten times today already!"

"_Now don't go making an idiot of yourself," Dad admonished him gruffly. "Got to uphold the Dursley name."_

"_Oh, stop it, Vernon." Mum slapped his arm lightly. "All right, Duddy, time to say goodbye."_

_Dudley wasn't sure if Dad had refused to accompany them to the train station, on the grounds of it being 'crawling with weirdos,' or if Mum had refused to allow him after that comment. At any rate, it would only be Mum and Aunt Lily taking him._

"_Well," he mumbled. "Bye, then."_

"_Good luck, Dudley!" Uncle Basil said enthusiastically, shaking his hand in a way that made Dudley feel several years older. He appreciated that; he was already dreading the tearful kisses and hugs his mother would undoubtedly smother him with at the station. Maybe he could convince her to stay in the car…_

"_Yeah, good luck, Dud." Harry was grinning, but Dudley thought his voice sounded a little too casual to be natural. He suddenly felt a surge of guilt. It should be Harry going, not him. It was his mum who'd been the witch, after all. It didn't seem fair that he would get to learn magic while Harry had to endure Stonewall High._

_He didn't know how to put any of this into words, though. He settled for a jerky nod and a quiet, "Thanks, Harry."_

"_Well, son," Dad growled, in that way he did when he came close to crying but wouldn't let anyone know. He gripped Dudley's shoulder, giving it a little shake. "Make us proud, won't you?"_

"'_Course, Dad," Dudley answered, sincerely hoping he could fulfill that promise._

"Who brought your letter?" Cedric was asking.

Dudley wasn't sure what he meant, but Justin answered, "Professor Snape," nodding toward the staff table. Dudley saw a pale young teacher, looking quite nervous as he chatted with the man next to him. With a jolt, Dudley realized that he recognized the second man – Uncle Sev!

"…guess Dumbledore thought the Muggle Studies professor would be the best man for the job!" Cedric was saying with a chuckle. "What about you, Dudley? Who brought yours?"

"Nobody," Dudley admitted. "My aunt was a witch. I guess they thought she could explain everything?" He didn't mention that a Hogwarts professor had apparently attended every family event he could remember, but had never said so much as, "Pass the salt, please" to Dudley.

"What d'you mean, _was_ a witch?" Cedric asked shrewdly, but Dudley didn't get a chance to answer.

The headmaster stood up and gave a speech. Dudley had no more attention for this than he had the events leading up to the Sorting, though now it was from a combination of a long, exciting day and a large quantity of good food. He only realized the speech was over when everyone stood up. He yawned and followed Justin without paying attention to where he was going. It wasn't long before he stood with the other first year Hufflepuffs in front of a stack of round barrels. The girl at the front, older even than Cedric, was showing them how to tap on a certain barrel in a certain way to get inside.

Despite his tiredness, Dudley noted the warmth and coziness of the common room as they passed through it. It was very _round_ – the room itself was circular, with round little windows up high and round doors leading off to what must be the dormitories. It reminded him of something, but he couldn't quite think what…

"_What'll it be today, boys?" Aunt Lily asked, scanning the bookshelf._

"_Something with dragons!" Harry requested eagerly. "And swords!"_

_Dudley scowled. "Dad says books are for swotty nancy-boys."_

_Aunt Lily raised an eyebrow, a little smile playing around her mouth. "You, Dudley, are quite a lot smarter than your father." Dudley was surprised; people didn't often tell him he was smart. "So what'll it be? Dragons and swords? Or did you have something else in mind?"_

_He shrugged. "Whatever Harry wants, then. I'm going to play on my Game Boy."_

"_Suit yourself," she said, in that voice of hers that always sounded like she was about to laugh. As she plucked a book from the shelf, Dudley settled down to enjoy a good game of Super Mario Land. He kept the volume off, though, and Aunt Lily's voice floated over him as she read. "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit…"_

Finally, finally, they reached the dormitory. Dudley noted, without much surprise, that his trunk had been brought in and placed at the foot of one of the four-poster beds draped with black hangings. He stumbled over to it and pulled out his pajamas, changing into them quickly and making a beeline for the very comfortable-looking bed.

He paused, something on top of the yellow quilt catching his eye. A pair of yellow-and-black-striped socks sat there cheerily, and a small note pinned to them said, "Welcome to Hufflepuff, Mr. Dursley!" in round handwriting. A feeling of intense happiness spread through him; he felt as if he had just swallowed a big gulp of hot chocolate, but instead of staying in his stomach, it was reaching into his fingers and toes.

It was an odd thought, and one he probably wouldn't have had if he was more alert, but it cheered him nonetheless. He pulled on the socks, pleased to find that they were just as warm and soft as they looked.

And finally, finally, after a day that had lasted a lifetime, in which he had traveled hundreds of miles on a train and thousands in his mind, Dudley crawled into bed and fell fast asleep.


	2. Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

A/N: Sorry for the delay! I honestly didn't think this was going anywhere, but I came back to it recently and still liked the idea, so here goes. No promises on when a third chapter might be forthcoming, but I would definitely like there to be one (and probably more). Dudley and Draco have some issues to work out. :)

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><p>Someone was shaking Dudley, which was unfortunate. He had been having a very pleasant dream involving a flying car, a talking dog, and a giant cake that didn't seem to get smaller no matter how many pieces he ate.<p>

"Piss off, Harry," he mumbled, swatting vaguely at the form gripping his shoulder.

"Not Harry," replied a voice that was entirely too chipper for this time of day. "Justin, remember? And you're going to be late if you don't get up. Got to start off on the right foot, old chap."

Dudley groaned, but as he opened his eyes and saw the yellow quilt and black bed-hangings, he couldn't help the slow grin that spread across his face.

"Yeah, I felt the same way," Justin said, and Dudley turned to see him grinning, already dressed. "Afraid it had all been a dream. But it's not!" He paused for a moment. "Come on, then! Get dressed so we can go to breakfast. Ernie says the house elves really outdo themselves on the first day!"

Ernie was right. Dudley couldn't have imagined how breakfast could possibly be more impressive than last night's feast, but it managed somehow. His mouth was full of sausage before he even sat down, and a plate of kippers was calling his name.

"Good morning, Mr. Dursley, Mr. Finch-Fletchley!" a cheery voice greeted from behind them. Dudley turned to see a fat, smiling woman with dirt smudging her face beneath her wild grey hair. His mother wouldn't have let her anywhere near the living room, but Dudley thought she looked nice.

"Good morning, Professor!" Justin replied promptly. Dudley's face must have shown his confusion, even through his bulging cheeks, because Justin then whispered, "Professor Sprout, Dud. Head of Hufflepuff House."

Professor Sprout didn't seem bothered. She laughed – a full, throaty laugh. "Don't worry, Mr. Dursley. I shouldn't expect you to remember a face you saw only briefly during what was perhaps the most overwhelming night of your life. No need to be embarrassed, no need at all." She beamed at them. "Well, here are your class schedules. If you need anything, anything at all, please come see me. Otherwise, I'll see you after lunch for Herbology!"

As she made her way along the table passing out schedules, Dudley felt a sharp finger dig into his ribs. Justin was indicating their schedules with excitement.

"Transfiguration!" he intoned excitedly. "Charms! _History_ of _Magic_!" He said this last as if it was a great treat. Dudley wasn't so sure. He had never been fond of history in school, and he didn't see that magical history could be much different. He was about to tell Justin this when a blonde boy across from them interrupted.

"Don't get your hopes up for that one," he advised. "Professor Binns is a ghost –" Justin's eyes bugged "—and you'd think that would make it interesting. But it doesn't. Take my advice: brush up on Alertness Potions."

Justin was undiscouraged. "Potions," he breathed, his eyes half closing in pleasure.

Dudley shook his head, half amused at his friend's enthusiasm and half dismayed that he'd gotten stuck with a boffin for a friend.

"Don't worry," the blonde boy muttered to Dudley. "He'll snap out of it when McGonagall assigns your first homework. Stebbins," he added, extending his hand.

Dudley shook it. "Dursley," he replied.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Dursley," Stebbins grinned. "If you survive this week, you'll be fine."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dudley retorted, a bit more aggressively than he'd meant to. Stebbins' comment had made him nervous.

"Magic isn't all wand-waving and funny words," Stebbins explained. "And Hogwarts is still a school. You've got to learn which students to avoid, which professors are helpful, which ones favor their own House, things like that. Take McGonagall, for example. She gives the most homework, but there's not a fairer teacher in the castle. Should have been a Hufflepuff, if you ask me. Quirrell's not too hard but he marks on a curve, so you want to watch out for that. Slughorn's a bit of a pushover if he likes you, but if he doesn't think you're anything special then you're screwed. Flitwick's classes are usually fun and pretty easy, but if you pay close attention, you'll learn a lot."

Dudley's head was swimming with all this information, and he was grateful when the bell rang and interrupted Stebbins. He managed to snatch two more waffles from the table before Justin seized his book bag and tugged him from the Great Hall.

Someone was shaking Dudley, which was unfortunate. He had been having a very pleasant dream involving money raining from the sky and the sausages from breakfast dancing a jig.

"Dud_ley_," Justin hissed. "We have to go!"

Dudley started awake, his face reddening as he realized he'd fallen asleep in the middle of class. On his first day. He wondered if Hogwarts went in for the cane, or if punishment was more along the lines of dunce caps. Everything else in this place was like something out of _Kingdom Crusade_, after all.

His embarrassment was short-lived, however. He counted no less than two other students with telltale cloth-patterned red patches on their faces, and another four who had apparently managed to stay awake but whose eyes were glazed over. Stebbins had been right.

"Transfiguration had bloody well be better than that," Dudley muttered to Justin as they made their way through the corridor. "Otherwise I'm saying, 'Sod it' and going home straight off."

"I suppose it could have been slightly more stimulating," Justin allowed, his eyes aglow. "But the stuff we'll be covering sounds simply _smashing_. And not just because there are trolls involved." He chuckled at his own joke. "Get it? Trolls? Smashing?"

"Justin," Dudley said evenly, stepping around a lost-looking fat boy, "don't make jokes."

"Excuse me," came a timid voice from behind them. They turned around to see the lost boy, clutching his books as if he were drowning and they were the only thing keeping him afloat. "Can you tell me how to get to the History of Magic classroom?"

"It's just back there," Justin told him with a smile. "You're not far. Where's the rest of your year?"

"I, er, had to stay behind in Transfiguration to get my t-toad back to normal," the boy stammered.

_So that's the boy who lost the toad on the train_, Dudley thought.

"Oh, I say!" Justin said excitedly. "That's fabulous! What did you change it into?"

"Er, well," the boy started, his face reddening. "We were supposed to be changing matchsticks into needles, only Trevor got out of my bag and when I tried to catch him, my wand went off or something and he ended up with no legs."

"Oh dear!" Justin exclaimed, with rather more feeling than Dudley thought strictly necessary. The toad had been put back to normal, after all.

A bell rang. The fat boy blanched and started running toward the corridor Dudley and Justin had just come from.

"Thanks!" he called back. "Sorry!"

"Anytime!" Justin yelled after him.

"Come on!" Dudley growled, tugging at the sleeve of Justin's robe.

Transfiguration was perhaps the worst class to be late for. Professor McGonagall didn't bother saying anything when they puffed into the room, red-faced and out of breath; she just fixed them with a piercing stare until they sat down and looked guilty.

"Welcome," she said curtly. "As it is your first day at Hogwarts, I will not deduct House points for being late, nor will I assign you a detention. However, rest assured that should it happen again, I will not hesitate to do either of these things."

"Yes, Professor," Justin replied promptly.

"Uh, yeah," Dudley echoed. "Got it." Professor McGonagall frowned slightly at this but didn't comment.

"If there will be no further interruptions, let us continue. What, at its core, is Transfiguration?" She paused, looking around the classroom. "Miss Abbott?"

"Erm," a girl with blonde pigtails squeaked. "Changing things…into other things?"

"Ye-es," Professor McGonagall drew the word out, her eyes narrowing slightly. "But is it merely the form that is changed, or the essence? Is Transfiguration, in other words, the art of disguise, or the science of elemental manipulation?"

There was a long silence. Ernie MacMillan was trying to look as though he was thinking deeply about the question, but Dudley was willing to bet Ernie hadn't understood what she meant any better than he had. He could still see the pattern of Ernie's bookbag faintly on his cheek. Justin probably _was_ thinking hard about the question, but Dudley was relieved that his hand wasn't waving in the air.

"Mr. Dursley?" Professor McGonagall called. "Care to take a guess?"

"Uhh…" Dudley squirmed, trying to remember anything he had ever learned about elements and whether or not you could change them. Trying to ignore the part of his brain that was screaming, _It's bloody magic!_ "Is it…both?"

Professor McGonagall allowed a small smile. "Very good, Mr. Dursley. And why do you say it is both?"

Dudley should have known that wouldn't be enough. "Uhh…" His brain was still foggy from his little nap in History of Magic, and he was starting to feel like he had last night: overwhelmed. "Because…" He had no idea what she wanted. Nobody did. It was only their first day; how could they possibly know? It wasn't fair! He didn't say all this, however. He merely mumbled, "I don't know, Professor."

"Bravo, Mr. Dursley!" Professor McGonagall said, a larger smile cracking her lined face. "Five points to Hufflepuff, for being willing to admit when you don't know. Many a witch and wizard has caused grievous injury to themselves or others by blundering ahead when they didn't know what they were facing. Courage in the face of adversity is admirable, of course, but caution in the face of the unknown is often more advisable."

She waved her wand, and a matchstick appeared on everyone's desk. "We will begin with something very simple. You have before you a matchstick. What I would like on your desk is a needle. The key to Transfiguration is _focus_. Form an image in your mind of the object you are Transfiguring, and of the object you are Transfiguring it into. Hold the two images tightly, concentrating on the form and the substance of each. Then recite the incantation and bring the two images together mentally. The incantation for today is—"

"Hang on," Justin burst out. "You can't just leave it there!" Professor McGonagall stared at him over her spectacles and he backtracked. "I-I mean, what's the answer? To the question? Is it form, or essence? Disguise or elemental manipulation?"

"Did the Sorting Hat mention the possibility of putting you in Ravenclaw, Mr. Finch-Fletchley?" Professor McGonagall asked wryly. "Your question is a fair one, but alas, the answer is too complex for one class period. You will study this more at N.E.W.T. level, should you decide to, but I can recommend some articles in _Transfiguration Today_ if you are interested."

She turned back to the rest of the class. "The incantation is _parum mutare_. I do not expect any of you to fully achieve needles today, but let us see how far you can get."

Dudley stared at his matchstick hopelessly. This was it, his first try at magic, and he was spectacularly unsure what would happen. Confidence wasn't usually something he was short on, having been assured constantly by his parents since age two that he was the best at everything he tried. But he had never tried to defy the laws of physics before, and his father's doubts about this whole magic thing came creeping back into his mind.

"Mr. Dursley, is there a problem?" Professor McGonagall's sharp voice pierced his musings and he jumped, startled, knocking into his desk and sending his matchstick rolling onto the floor.

"N-no, Professor," he stammered, bending quickly to retrieve the tiny piece of wood. His large fingers struggled to pick it up and when he finally straightened, he saw Wayne Hopkins and Megan Jones smirking at one another out of the corner of his eye.

Reddening, he concentrated on his matchstick. He tried to recall the magical, tingling feeling he had experienced when he bought his wand, but that seemed like ages ago now. He took a deep breath, trying to picture a needle in his head. "Parm muttery," he mumbled, poking hesitantly at the matchstick with his wand.

Nothing happened. He supposed it was a relief, actually, that nothing had burst into flame or—he thought of the boy in the hallway—lost its legs, but he was surprisingly disappointed. He knew he shouldn't be; it was only his first day, after all. But something about the way Professor McGonagall had smiled at him when he answered her question made him want to do something amazing for her.

"Think about the shape of both the matchstick and the needle," Professor McGonagall reminded the class from the front of the room, "and what each is made of. Feel the wood between your fingers; imagine the prick of the steel. And enunciate! _Parum mutare_."

Dudley did as she suggested, rubbing the match between his pink fingers, concentrating on how it felt, how it looked. He thought of his mother's sewing kit, of the time Harry had convinced him to prick his finger and sign some paper in blood like he had read in a book. He put the match down, staring at it as he imagined a needle: steel, silver, sharp. He raised his wand and whispered, "_Parum mutare_."

There was a yelp from his left and he looked over at Justin, whose arm was waving in the air to Dudley's lack of surprise. "Professor, Professor!" he squealed. "Professor McGonagall, come and look!"

She did, sweeping majestically past the curious stares of the rest of the class. She examined Justin's match—it still looked like a match to Dudley—closely, frowning slightly. "Mr. Finch-Fletchley," she began, not unkindly.

"It's lighter than it was, Professor!" he beamed. "More silvery, what?"

Professor McGonagall looked skeptical, but she nodded politely. "Excellent progress, Mr. Finch-Fletchley. Keep trying." She glanced over at Dudley's desk and raised her eyebrows. He dropped his gaze, embarrassed, and was shocked to see that his match had turned completely silver. It was still clearly a match, but it appeared to be made out of steel.

"Well done, Mr. Dursley," Professor McGonagall praised him, keeping her voice low. Everyone else had gone back to their matches and didn't seem to hear her. "Most students manage to change the form before the substance, but you have done the opposite. Very interesting."

"Er, thank you?" Dudley managed, unsure if "interesting" was something he really wanted to be, but grateful she had at least not pointed it out to the entire class.

Transfiguration was exhausting, and Dudley was glad he had nothing to worry about for the next hour other than how to fit as much food as possible onto his plate. Justin, undaunted even by the two rolls of parchment McGonagall had assigned for homework, kept up a steady stream of commentary in Dudley's ear as they walked to the Great Hall. Dudley wasn't listening, nor even paying much attention to where he was going, until he felt something brush past his arm.

"Watch where you're going, you great oaf!" a familiar voice snarled. Dudley turned and saw Draco's scowl turn to surprise. "Oh, Dursley, it's you," he said blandly. "All right, then?"

"All right," Dudley answered, grinning despite his wariness. Draco had been distant since Dudley's sorting last night, but he had been great fun on the train—and Dudley's first friend here, besides. "You want to sit with us at lunch?"

"'Us'?" Draco echoed questioningly, and Dudley realized that Justin had disappeared. "Looks like your little friend didn't want to be seen with big, bad Slytherins," Draco laughed. "Come sit with us instead, Dursley. God knows why that hat put you in Hufflepuff."

Dudley felt as if a huge weight had lifted off his chest. Draco didn't care that he was in a different house after all. They could still be friends. Lunch was enormously enjoyable, if a bit lighter than dinner and breakfast, and Dudley laughed as Draco described tiny Professor Flitwick and performed a hilarious impression of nervous Professor Quirrell. He felt a bit bad for Draco's other friends, the hulking boys he had seen last night who Draco had introduced as Crabbe and Goyle; he thought Draco might be ignoring them a bit in favor of Dudley. But on the other hand, they didn't seem to be his friends so much as his…bouncers.

Lunch was over all too soon and Dudley made his way to the greenhouses, wondering where Justin had got to. He didn't have to wonder long, as Justin was already at Greenhouse One when he arrived. Dudley waved at him as he approached, but Justin only smiled weakly and scuffed the toe of his trainer in the dirt.

"Where were you at lunch, mate?" Dudley asked. "I couldn't find you."

"I daresay you weren't looking very hard," Justin muttered stiffly, staring at the small ditch he was making with his toe.

"What?" Dudley was taken aback at Justin's tone; it was the first time he hadn't sounded excited or unbelievably happy.

"Pretty chummy with those Slytherins," Justin scowled. "Ernie warned me about them, that blonde one in particular. His family hate us, Dudley. Muggleborns. They think we're not worthy to study magic. They think we're _less_ than them," he spat.

"Draco's not like that," Dudley protested. "He's friends with me, inne?"

"Have you told him who your parents are?" Justin asked shrewdly. Dudley's silence was answer enough. Justin sighed, patting Dudley on the arm and looking into his eyes seriously. "Just be careful, Dud."


End file.
